When I was ten years old, I was abducted by aliens. Took me while I slept. Your basic alien abduction story.
Poked, prodded. Lost time.
And, of course, no one believed me. For a while I didn’t believe myself. Not while I was a kid, but when I got older. After the therapy and the looks backward. Deep dives into the subconscious through meditation and herbal supplements.
As a kid though, I was convinced. Didn’t remember much of what happened, if anything at all. But I did know it happened. A dream that’s not a dream. The type your mommy and daddy tell you is just a dream go back to sleep no one’s out there and no there’s not a monster in your closet and no you’re not going to die if you don’t put a band-aid on that.
Taken. One night. Then two. Then three. Then a thousand.
And then they stopped.
For a while I wanted them to come back. But then, eventually, I realized it really was all a dream and that maybe just maybe I had something wrong in my head.
Nothing that can’t be fixed without an injection and a bit of elbow grease.
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Jesus Christ, they’re real.
Dig up a grave, dive in, hide with the worms so they don’t find you.
Ghosts and headstones and electric blues on the horizon.
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They’re not here. I’m not there. Nothing as it seems.
Frozen solid like the dead. They can’t see you if you don’t move.
Tyrannosaurus. Rex. Wrecked by tyrants. Like truth, justice, and the American way.
The light fades as quick as it appeared. You might call them headlights.
I call them searchers.
Maybe they haven’t found me. Maybe I shouldn’t have come.
I need a door. A place to hide. Somewhere where no one can find me and if I’m lucky I can’t even find myself.
Because I’ll give myself away. I’m sure of it. Me, myself, and I are not to be trusted.
Do you trust me?